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'There is enough glean water in the tay's rainfall to wash it off, Darco answered. 'Did you efer read "The Orichinal"? 'No, said Paul. 'The man who wrote it vos so healthy that he nefer hat need to wash himself. His skin was too bure to hold dirt. 'Filthy beggar! said Paul. 'I make it a baraple, Darco declared. 'Id is true of the immordal soul.
"Thin there let ut rest," sez I; an' thinkin' I'd been a trifle onpolite, I sez, "The tay's not quite sweet enough for my taste. Put your little finger in the cup, Judy. 'Twill make ut necthar." "What's necthar?" sez she. "'Somethin' very sweet," sez I; an' for the sinful life av me I cud not help lookin' at her out av the corner av my eye, as I was used to look at a woman.
Now, then, Joe, tay's ready, so fall to." Joe did fall to with the appetite of a man who knows what it is to toil hard, late and early. Joe junior laid aside the helmet and poker, and did his duty at the viands like the true son of a fireman not to say an Irishman and for five minutes or so the family enjoyed themselves in silence.
"'Thin there let ut rest, sez I; an' thinkin' I'd been a trifle onpolite, I sez, 'The tay's not quite sweet enough for my taste. Put your little finger in the cup, Judy. 'Twill make ut necthar. "'What's necthar? sez she. "'Somethin' very sweet, sez I; an' for the sinful life av me I cud not help lookin' at her out av the corner av my eye, as I was used to look at a woman.
Are you coming to your breakfast," she shouted, calling to honest Jemmy, who still sat on the hob ruminating with a kind of placid vexation over his son's extravagance "your tay's filled out!" "There let it," he replied, "I'll have none of your plash to-day; I tuck my skinful of good stiff stirabout that's worth a shipload of it. Drink it yourselves I'm no gintleman."
"Wha was that?" asked his wife. "Ow! it was naebody but Jeames Johnston, wantin' a bit o' flannin for's wife's coatie." "And what had he to say 'at keepit ye till yer tay's no fit to drink?" "Ow! my tay'll do weel eneuch. It's nae by ordinar' cauld." "But what said he?" "Weel! hm! hm! He said it was fine frosty weather." "Ay, nae doobt! He kent that by the way the shuttle flew. Was that a'?"
"No, thank ye, Paydro," replied Tim rubbing his hands at sight of the eatables; "this will do foorst rate, me bhoy. Misther Gray-ham, why don't ye fire away, ma bouchal? Sure an' y'r tay's gettin' cowld."
Tonight she will take her part at t'e Alcazar; at t'e toor a friend will meet her unt t'ey will go toget'er down t'e Champs-Elysées to t'e grand boulevard, where t'ey sit in front of Pousset's and trink t'eir wine unt eau sucree. T'ey will watch t'e crowds, t'ey will greet t'eir friends, t'ey will exchange t'e tay's news.
We's be reet enough to-morn, lass. Mon, there's awlus some way shap't. That tay's done me a deeol o' good. . . . Go thi ways whoam, Ann; neaw do; or else aw shan't be yezzy abeawt tho!" But Ann, who was wiping her eyes with her apron, replied, "Naw, naw; aw will not go yet, Sarah!" . . . And then she began to cry, "Eh, lasses; aw dunnot like to see yo o' this shap aw dunnot for sure!
We should nae be far off some o' the islands noo, but it's hard to say, wi' naither sun, moon, nor stars veesible to let us fin' oot where we are." Jackman and Barret came on deck at the moment, closely followed by Quin, who, quietly ignoring the owner of the yacht, went up to his master and said "Tay's riddy, sor." "Breakfast, you mean," said Mabberly, with a smile.
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